| Gregory Littlebear & Psycho Sandra vs. The
Red Army Warriors |
Psycho Sandra #1
The scene opens inside of a bar. Sandra is drinking from a
can of Grizzly Beer, wearing a PWA t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a bandana
over her long black hair. Sitting beside her is a man about her age.
He’s her height, black, and is wearing roughly the same outfit, except
he has long scraggly dreadlocks under his bandana. In his hand is a glass
of White Zinfandel.
“So how’s married life treating you?” He asks between sips.
Sandra grins. “Fine… that boy’s a God-send. You wouldn’t believe
the amount of crap he’s had to deal with, lately. Everyone’s on his
ass about everything.”
“Yeah, I saw that. I’m amazed he can still deliver, with his kind of
schedule.”
She shakes her head. “Nah, Cham’s not the type to miss a show.”
“I didn’t mean deliver that, haha,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
Sandra punches him in the shoulder. “Dammit, Thomas! Geez… y’know, I
have a tag team match soon? How weird is that? With this guy called
Littlebear.”
“I’ve seen him. He’s gay, right?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, probably… whatever, it’ll be fun. I’ve always
wanted to face the Red Army Warriors. Those two are a laugh and a half.”
“Watch yourself,” Thomas warns. “Don’t want to give anybody a
chance at getting your belt.”
“Heh, no way! You know, this is one of the longest title reigns I’ve
ever had. I don’t even remember how long I held those other titles. Lets
see,” she thinks back. “I had the Internet belt, the World Title, and
uh…”
“The Women’s Title?”
“Yeah yeah…” she smirks and drinks.
“Back when you and KWB were uh… you know…”
Sandra grins. “I’m kinda glad to see he’s coming back. He was pretty
good, y’know? He could really help out, around here.”
“I didn’t think you’d be too keen on seeing that guy, again. What
did you ever see in him, anyway?”
She shrugs. “It was the right thing, at the time. I was a cheerleader,
for crap’s sake! Remember? He saw me in a fight, and well… we sorta
hit it off… he always was kinda cute.”
“Careful, don’t want Chamelion to hear you talking like that.”
She waves a hand. “Hah, nah, Mark’s much to big for that. He knows I
love him. KWB was right, at the time… but I needed someone a little more
uhm… hm… what’s the word, here?”
“Rich?”
She punches him in the shoulder again.
“Hey, watch it!”
“You watch it, ya big… hey, y’know what? I’d better go work on my
moves for this tag team match. Wanna come?”
“Sure, I could use a laugh.”
Sandra lifts her fist, but Thomas hops out of the way. They both laugh as
they walk outside, towards a long line of motorcycles. Sandra hops on to a
red Harley Davidson Sportster, and Thomas on to a black Harley Davidson
Fatboy. They put on their helmets, and rev up before peeling out of the
parking lot and on to the highway.
Gregory Littlebear #1
Fade in.
Gregory is sitting at a dinner table, eating mashed potatos. Sitting to
his right is a ten year old girl, looking at him adoringly. To his left is
his manager, Brian, drinking heavily from a can of Grizzly Beer. Accross
from him is a woman with red hair.
"Great food, Mrs. O'Kieth. Man... Jewish and Irish! Is there
anything with a potato you can't do?"
Mrs. O'Kieth chuckles, looking a little uncomfortable. She looks at Brian,
who seems to be busy with his drinking, and turns to the little girl.
"Amy, sweety, why don't you go upstairs and get ready for bed?"
"Okay, mommy," Amy says, leaving her chair. She grins and looks
at Gregory. "Good night, mister Littlebear."
"Goodnight there, Ame-ster!" Gregory says with a smile, patting
her curly red hair before she runs upstairs. "Cute kid. She's yours,
right Brian?"
Brian opens another can. "Huh? Oh. Yeah... honey, get me another one,
would you?"
Mrs. O'Kieth chuckles uncomfortably, again, and stands up to clear their
plates. "So... Mr. Littlebear... I hear you have another tag-team
match, is that right?"
"Yeah! Psycho Sandra! Shame I'm not fighting her. Any excuse to get
my hands on a rack that big, huh Brian?" He elbows Brian. "Huh?
Huh? Am I right? Huh?"
Brian nods, and continues to drink. "Yes. Fine. Rack."
"Well... maybe it's time for Brian and I to--"
"Of course, they're not as great as yours Mrs. O'Kieth! It'd be rude
of me to say so," Gregory says with a grin as he slaps Brian on the
shoulder. "You bagged yourself a red-head, ya lucky bastard! Oh! Say,
Delicious and I are meeting up at the gym tonight, to finalize some of our
game plans for the next match. Wanna come?"
"Huh?" Brian looks indisposed. "Yeah. Sure,
whatever..."
"Brian, honey..." Mrs. O'Kieth says with an uncomfortable smile.
"Remember, tonight...?"
"Oh, right! Brian's pegging you tonight, I almost forgot!"
Gregory bellows. "Hey, don't lemme keep you waiting! I'll tell you
what, I'll see you tomorrow! That is, if you're not burned out on her
fire, huh? Huh? Am I right?" He elbows Brian again.
Brian can only nod as Gregory grabs his jacket from the back of his chair.
He moves to exit, then flashes a smile at the camera.
"Hey! Red Army Warriors! I just realized something... my nick-name is
Red Stripe! Red and red, huh? Awesome! Well, just watch for me when I'm
kickin' your ass, alright? Yeah!"
He gives a thumbs-up to the camera as it fades to black. |
| Cody Galle vs. Alex Wilkie |
Alex Wilkie #1
The scene opens up slowly to a dingy dark basement, lit by
a few candles that are stuck in a ceramic skull head. The camera pans
around for a moment, you half expect to see a demonic ritual or some
hardcore bondage going on. But instead, 4 nerds sit around a square table.
All of them are wearing hats that say D&D, some even wearing viking
hats just to get in characters.
The camera pans towards the Dungeon Master, he has his little Dugeon Map
and rules set up so his face cannont be seen.
Dugeon Master: …Okay, Gullstaff, roll two die to see if you receive any
ear damage from the singing harpe.
The nerds play they’re game, for a couple more minutes.
Nerd #1: Hey Dungeon Master…
The dugeon master put down his little map and it was none other than
PWA’s own Alex Wilkie.
Alex: What.
Nerd #1: Why do we have to call you Dugeon Master?
Alex: Cause your not cool enough to use my name. Now. Roll the fucking
dice.
The game goes on for few more minutes and then Alex stands up and
stretches.
Alex:Well guys I hate to break it to you, but its late and I have to get
up early tomorrow…so get the fuck out!
The nerds leave and Alex closes the door behind them.
Alex: Well now that that’s over, I can finally get to work.
Alex throws a few things onto the kitchen counter, a pack of small cigars
and a lighter. And walks into his office. He sits down in the large
leather chair and logs onto his computer.
Alex: Well, I did what I said I was going to do, and I beat Raizzor…With
the help of the Unwated Brymstone, but still. I beat him. And that’s all
that matters.
He took a cigar out of a cup of them and unwrapped it slowly.
Alex: So now I’m fighting Las Vegas’s own Cody Galle. Hes a gamblin’
man, a dice roller, which is why I chose this promos theme…Dungeons and
Dragons…well.. Not really.. I just love D&D, but you see, Cody is
taking a mighty big gamble by going up against me this Saturday.
Alex pop the cigar in his mouth and lit it up. and takes a few quick
puffs.
Alex: I’m more than a match for you Cody, and you know it, so I’ll
give you once chance to back down. Cause this Saturday I’m going to show
you no mercy, after battling Raizzor for my rightful place in the Whos The
Man Tournement. I’m Stronger, Better, Faster, and more of a vicious
mother fucker than I ever was.
Alex put the cigar on an Ashtray.
Alex: I’ll show you why I’m called Grade A Alex Wilkie, I’ll make
you see, Why I’m going to be the first PWA holder of 2006.
The scene fades slowly as Alex turns around to work on his computer.
Cody Galle #1
The camera cuts to a small building on a busy street. It
was nighttime and yet people still rushed hurriedly up and down the
sidewalk toward their destination. The neon lights that rested upon the
small building flickered on and off occasionally, as small sparks fell
down from the bottom right corner. The sign simply read ‘Dave’s’ and
it was quite clear that the establishment in question was a bar. It could
have been the neon picture of a beer bottle beside the word Dave’s that
gave it away, but you really never know these days.
In any case, Cody Galle was leaning against said building casually, taking
in the movement and sounds that emanated all around him. He quite enjoyed
doing this…it was one of the few things he did that required no speaking
and no money. For the people who knew Galle well (yes, there actually are
some people out there who fit that description), this was quite
commonplace. They also knew not to disturb him whilst he was meditating…
…unless they didn’t want a working arm anymore.
As the people passed Galle by, and the camera continued to focus on his
lone figure against the wall, a change in the way he was carrying himself
occurred. He no longer looked completely relaxed…he now looked focused,
intensity lining the features of his face.
The camera now moved in closer to Galle, coming within five feet of him.
His eyes were still closed, but his breathing was slightly heavier now and
his mouth opened to speak.
“Hello PWA…it’s been a while. A little too long, I’d imagine.
It always is.”
Galle seemed to be serious…something very out of character for him.
“Too long for you guys, that is. How can you stand to not look at my
face for so long? I guess suicide would seem like an option soon…it’s
a good thing I got here when I did. Speaking of suicide…”
Galle flipped his hair back. He was wearing his trademark trench coat, a
pair of torn jeans, and a plain white t-shirt. He was without his
sunglasses and his eyes seemed to blaze with passion suddenly.
“Let’s talk about something that made me contemplate suicide…the
thought that I’m facing Alex Wilkie this week. No, I didn’t think
about ending it all because I’m scared of him…I’m just worried like
my parents were that some D&D playing nerd is going to infect me with
whatever the hell he has, since it could very well be considered a
disease…and all of a sudden I’ll be a level seven rogue fighting a
small petunia beast, and, assuming I roll a seventeen or higher, I’ll be
able to take my magic gravel sack and summon Hagor the Magnificently Large
Jackrabbit. We can only hope and pray that this will not happen…but I
suppose this thought is lost on you wrestling fans, since you’re pretty
much a step below D&D players.”
Damn…at least the calm and reflective Cody Galle was good while it
lasted.
“To be honest guys, I’m not terribly concerned about this upcoming
match. The fact that Gregory Littlebear and Cody Galle managed to co-exist
as a tag team…and work together to win, no less…that concerns me, but
‘Grade A’ Alex Wilkie is simply an over-rated wrestler. I’ve got
more technical skill than you, Alex…I’ve also more good-looking…oh,
can’t forget the luck…see, while you’re down in your basement,
eating Cheetos while your 300 pound friends roll dice to see whether or
not they can speak, I’m out in the world perfecting my craft…not
wrestling, no, gambling…and I’m making money doing it. Hell, I kind of
pity you, so if I win this week…no, when I win this week…I’ll be
sure to buy you a custom made twenty sided die to ease the pain.”
People walked in front of the camera shot and Galle waited for them to
pass by. Once they had gone, Galle smiled and continued.
“There’s not much I can say about this one, guys.”
Galle pulled out a twenty-sided die of his own and smiled.
“If I roll a twenty, I kick Wilkie’s ass and prove it should be me
in the Who’s The Man Tournament…it should be me as number one
contender for the Grizzly Beer title…and it should be me leading this
company, getting my face recognized everywhere I go.”
Galle blew on the die, for luck, of course, and let it roll. It spun and
tumbled across the ground…
…and landed on a one.
Galle’s face fell, realizing the point he had been building to had
escaped him and his luck had actually failed him.
Just as the camera was about to pan back up to a disappointed Galle, a man
walking down the sidewalk kicked the die with his foot and caused it to
hit Galle’s leg and stop in front of him, revealing a twenty.
Thank God…
Galle’s expression quickly changed to one of happiness as he picked up
the die and held it out for the camera to see.
“Wilkie…I’d watch out, pal. When it’s all said and done,
according to the rulebook and the odds…you’ll crap…out. Bet on it.”
The camera fades as Galle grins widely before settling back into his
meditation position, the neon sign causing sparks to fall all around him
in a circle.
Destiny awaits, Wilkie.
Alex Wilkie #2
“Oh Wow.”
He scene opens up slowly. To a shot of Alex and Cindy fantasy both
standing outside of a mall window. Cindy was looking at the stuff inside
Old Navy (or as Alex liked to call it. Old Nazi.) and Alex sat on a bench,
holding a few bags. Of clothes.
Cindy: Lets go inside Alex!
Alex: I refuse.
Cindy: Come on…
Alex: No, You go in and buy whatever you want.. I’ll just chillax here
alright?
Cindy sighed and then turned to look inside again and then looked at Alex
and then pranced into old navy like a little school girl.
Alex: Oh my god….
Alex sighed and shook his head.
Alex: Well; some good news then. Finally got some word out of Galle,
about him… “Contemplating Suicide”, poor baby, that’s all I have
to say, Sure maybe I’ve had some achievements, I’ve had my up’s and
down’s, and during BWF, a lot of my time was Down, I had one… one tag
team title reign. That lasted a good..oh 3 weeks? Yeah, and then, I had my
shots at titles. Yeah, I lost those title matches.
Alex sighed and pulled out a smoke. He noticed he seemed to do this a lot
when he talked about matches. But he didn’t care.
Alex: And for 3 straight months. I spent most of my time on the B
Show.. Reloaded. Sure, I won those matches, I had an extremely good
winning streak. But no. that wasn’t enough for me, as I watched other
people get pushes, I felt like I was getting left behind, I started no
showing events. I started coming out in matches drunk. Sure. Maybe people
didn’t see it, but it was a lot of house shows. Which is why I left. I
couldn’t take it. Some people were just saying I was running.
Alex poped the ciggerette into his mouth and then lit it up.
Alex: They said, I was running to DWA, where the game was easy and I
knew the owners…
Alex exhaled the smoke and pulled the smoke out for a few seconds.
Alex: And Lets see, that’s when my life started to look up, I was
close, to winning a title. but the fed folded before I could win. But my
winning streak remains, not topped. Sure. Other people had more wins, but
they also had loses.
Alex put the smoke back in his mouth, inhale and exhaled.
Alex: Then before DWA, there was KCW. I had two. Ironman title reigns.
And one Hardcore title reign. Those are my acheivements in my life, cody.
That’s it. That’s all that’s happened. You have untapped potential,
Galle.
Alex sighed softly.
Alex: Yeah, I’m saying it, I know you have potential, just not the
potential to take on me. Brymstone. Draven. KWB. Randal Moran. Raizzor,
that’s my department. You can make fun of my lifestyle all you want, but
I’ve already heard it all. I’ve already heard “Roll 20 sided die to
see if you’re a nerd” from every jock in the school. “is your penis
as big as your level 20 dark elf?” from all the preppy girls. Nah, man,
I’ve learned to just ignore all that shit.
Alex exhaled and inhaled once again. he saw a blue pink and red blurr dash
past inside Old Navy, he laughed a bit.
Alex: But you see. I never drift to far from my roots. I’m an
international wrestling Superstar. I’m a 275lbs fucking metal head
D&D playing, Bull Wrestling, son of a bitch. Do you think I give a two
shits and a fuck if you make fun of me?
Alex leaned back slowly.
Alex: I wait for a week. I wait for a whole week, for your word, and
this is what I get. A minute and a half promo about you whining about your
pitiful life, about how your getting the shitty end of the stick. How your
life is so hard. How you should be here, I should be there, Jesus is up
there, Satan’s down there and around the corner fudge is made.
Alex pulled the now burned up smoke and put it in an ashtray next to him.
Alex: Keep making people wait, and you might as well apply for to do a
commercial for Subway. “OO! I SMELL A BLOCK BUSTER!”, Yeah. I’m sure
that would work perfect for you. Well atleast your mom thinks your more
“handsome” than the guy who does it now.
Alex grinned a bit.
Alex: Oh Right… saying your more good looking then me. Heh, wow,
that’s a laugh, had’nt heard THAT one before. You see. When I go into
a bar, Woman don’t even have to look at me they just ask “Hey, Arent
you “Grade A” Alex Wilkie?” Oh yeah, Grade A is just for my looks.
My wrestling prowess, or the fact that I was a fucking smart kid in
school. Hah, no… no…Ever heard of Grade A canada beef? Oh yeah…I
went there.
Alex begins to search through his bags a bit and then looks at the camera.
Alex: So, Cody, You’ve got Technical abilities. I won’t doubt that,
but if you think about it. Technical wrestling requires focus, set-up’s
and a keen eye.
Alex grinned a bit.
Alex: You, your focus is Suicide, Your set-up’s are shit compared to
what I’ve seen, and a keen eye…well.. lets just say you won’t have a
keen-eyes if you have two black ones instead.
Cindy walked out of Old Navy, carrying 3 large bags, she was smiling from
ear to ear.
Cindy: Damn, I’m a good shopper.
Alex: Heh, well come on Cindy, lets head home, before someone takes
another shot at me playing D&D.
Cindy nodded and smiled and prances away towards the parking lots.
Alex looks into the camera and winks.
Alex: Keep working on your speech skills there Bro. And maybe Saturday
night, you’ll have a good chance at actually beating me.
The scene faded slowly as Alex stood up and walked away in the same
direction as Cindy.
Cody Galle #2
Not terribly exciting, I know…
Cody Galle was not outside the dingy dive bar, a la his last stop in with
the PWA faithful. Galle was now inside the dingy dive bar, which actually
was probably worse than just standing outside of it. The lights were dim
and flickering, and the bar was in less than pristine condition. Bar
stools were scattered in various locations around the main area and there
was a beat-up pool table situated to the left of the room. The bar patrons
all appeared to be quite miserable and none of them paid much attention to
the fact that wrestling superstar Cody Galle was present, much less the
camera that followed him around the bar. The camera quickly followed him
as he motioned for it to trail closely behind him, his eyes carefully
observing each person he passed, making sure that he didn’t disturb
them. He finally found a small booth, the only one in the entire bar, and
sat down inside it, careful to not sit in any stick or wet substance. The
camera sat opposite him.
“Phew, it’s freaking hard to find a good place to sit in this dump!
I’m sure half the crowd in PWA couldn’t care less where they eat their
food or sit, but I’m a very refined man, you know. Only the finest for
Cody Galle…well…finest in this hellhole of a city, anyways. Who the
hell names their establishment ‘Dave’s’? I suppose if all the people
here have an IQ of forty and can’t remember anything longer than a one
syllable name, it would make sense.”
Galle smiled, as if he was actually having a conversation with the people
watching.
It’s called connecting with the audience. Screw off.
“So I’ve got something in the form of a rebuttal from Alex Wilkie,
and first off, let me apologize for being so late. You see, I actually
have some form of a life…it requires me to do other things than talk
about my opponents in wrestling. Like, say, working out…eating, that’s
a big thing for me…can’t forget the movies, Clerks II is out today!
Well, I suppose you get the point, really. I’ve got other shit to do,
and you don’t exactly fit into my schedule until tonight on Rampage.”
Galle winked at the camera and ordered a beer, rather politely in his
case, from a nearby waitress. She seemed to be relieved he didn’t grab
her ass like every other man in the bar.
Nah, I’ll save that for off camera.
“Wilkie, bro, you’ve got it in your head that simply analyzing what
I said and cutting it up is going to demolish my confidence…I’m sorry,
bro, but absolutely nothing takes my confidence away. Someone could shoot
me point blank with a gun…and I wouldn’t be surprised if that happened
at some point during my stay in this dump…and the last thing I would say
to them would be ‘You call that a gun shot? My grandma could do that
better…and she’s dead, much like I will be in a few moments.’
That’s what I’d say, and damn it if those aren’t words to die by, I
don’t know what are.”
The waitress comes back and hands Galle a beer. He looks at it
distastefully and screws open the lid, sniffing the bottle. He slowly took
a swig, sticking out his tongue after swallowing the small amount he
drank.
“Ah, beers terrible here. Anyways…Wilkie…I don’t really have
much to say to you. We’ve never met in the ring…we’ve never met in
life, really…and we’ve never even seen each other in person, not even
backstage, bro. So to be honest, I’ve got nothing left to say to
you…besides that when all is said and done, and this ‘half minute
promo’ is wrapped up, the only thing left for you will be to crap…out.”
The camera faded to a smiling Galle, who chucked the beer bottle behind
him and left the booth.
Onward to Rampage, Galle! Onward…to victory! |
| Johnny Phoenix vs. Brymstone |
Brymstone #1
The scene opens up inside the gym of one Ashram
Stone, known to the world of PWA fas as Brymstone. He is standing outside
of the ring while two boys about the age of six are locking up in the
ring. They are doing it sloppily, because as anyone can see, these poor
children are bone tired. One of them, the paler one looks ready to drop as
is, while the darker, and physically stronger looking of the two doesnt
look to be too far behind. Brymstone crosses his arms over his broad chest
and watcxhes the boys intently. The stronger looking boy, most assuredly
Ashram Jr breaks the lock up and tries to rush the other boy who drops to
the mat and trips him. Both boys are very..very slow to get back to their
feet. They are breathing heavilly and their training clothes are soaked
from sweat. Brymstone smirks and steps towards the ring, and places his
hands on the edge of the apron and leans his head inside the ring before
speaking.
Have you boys had enough?
The boys, too tired to answer verbally just nod their heads weakly.
You don't want to harm any more of your
shoolmates with what I show you here do you?
The boys shake their heads to answer in the negative. Brymstone
places a hand to his ear, to indicate they actually have to SAY something
this time. In unison the boys answer.
No Dad.
No Father..
Brymstone smirks and then leans away from the ring.
Good. You're done for the day. Go hit the showers
and clean up for dinner. After that you two can start your homework.
Brymstone nods with his head towards the door leading back into the
house, and there is of course an expected grumbling of disapproval from
the boys. However they do get up and leave the room, assumedly to do as
their father instructed them to do. It is then that Brymstone turns
towards the camera
Johnny Phoenix..it is sad that I have to come
back to you to get my point across, but so be it. You have already felt
what I can do, and because of interference from certain parties, you stole
the win. Congratulations. You saw an opening, and you took it. Rest
assured, that the opening is now closed. I am proposing to up the stakes a
bit for our match. What could these upped stakes be? A steel cage. No
outside interference... just you, me, and an unforgiving steel barrier
surrounding the ring. You of course do not have to accept this
proposal..but somehow.. I have a feeling you might. What with that need to
proove that you could defeat me all on your own, without certain scaled
distractions assisting you... I will keep in touch on this matter..
Brymstone steps over towards a watter bottle and grabs it, draining
it quickly before continuing
Mark...Michael...or should I call you two by your
ring names now? Chamelion and Raizzor? No.. we know one another much
too well for that. Mark.. I have warned you about sticking your nose where
it does not belong..and because you have repeatedly ignored my
warnings..there is a price that you must pay.. Only..you are too cowardly
to step forward and accept your fate..so..your beloved brother must bear
the debt. You do not frighten me with your ploys, Mark, so do save them
for some of the more impressionable stars...for after I am done with this
last bit of buisness.. I am through playing with you..
Now..on to you, Michael..yes.. I cost you your chance to advance to the
next level in the Who's The Man? tournament.. Yes I just said that you
will bear your brother's debt.. but then..that is the price of blood is it
not? Your brother takes out his hatred for Eric on me...I get angry and I
am going to take it out on you... It's convoluted is it not? You can save
your dark croakings of flesh and blood and torment, Michael.. I have
walked that path too long myself..such things do not affect me anymore.
The time will come very soon when the Soul-Taker must stand across the
ring from the Hell-Sent Destroyer..and believe me.. it will not be
pretty.. I will even give you the benefit, Michael, of naming the style of
match that we will have..and WHERE it will happen.. My little gift to you,
seeing as we go back quite a long time... With that said, I have other
pressing matters to attend to...
Brymstone nods to the camera with a devilish smirk creeping across
his features and the scene fades quickly to black.
Johnny Phoenix #1
*Scene opens on Johnny pulling into
Jorge's Gym. He walks in, and immediately sees Tommy and Mikey Knight
sitting around, not training. He walks over to them.*
Johnny: What are you guys doing? We are supposed to be
getting ready for my match at Rampage and your tag match over in the JWF!
Tommy: We're not on the JWF card.
Mikey: Yeah, we are being given a "little time
off", according to Mr. Kinsella.
Johnny: What? What the hell are you talking about?
Mikey: We got this letter in the mail today.
*Mikey hands Johnny the letter. The JWF logo is at the
top. Johnny reads out loud*
Johnny: Tommy and Mikey Knight, This is a message
directly from the desk of Mr. Doug Kinsella. You will be inactive for a
few weeks due to your actions after last week's Wired. We here at JWF do
not appreciate behavior such as this. You are not going to be fired, and
you are not on suspension. This is just to notify you that your services
will not be required for the next two to three weeks. Please consider this
a warning. If anything like what happened last week happens ever again,
you will be terminated on the spot. Do not take this lightly. Sincerely,
Mr. Doug Kinsella.
*Johnny crumples the letter up*
Johnny: This is complete crap. What did I tell you
about that little federation? I told you to wait for the right place tp
join, but you jumped at the first one. What could the two of you have done
to make him send you this?
Tommy: Well, after Dominic and Rorshach cost us our
title shot, we kind of snapped. After our match was over we went into the
back looking for them.
Mikey: But like the cowards they are they ran out of
the arena faster than a ferret on crystal meth.
Johnny: OK, so that shouldn't cause a letter like this.
Tommy: You didn't let us finish.
Johnny: Oh boy. Please proceed.
Mikey: Well, we chased them all the way out to the
parking lot. Just as we get there, they hop into a limo that was waiting
there.
Tommy: They must have had that episode out there all
planned out. You know, come out there, cost us the match, then run like
little girls to the getaway car.
Mikey: As they peel out, we give chase, but they pull
away from us.
Tommy: So we turn around and head back into the
arena.
Mikey: Right, so we get in there, and some tech guy is
walking past us and says some smart ass remark about how we lost the
match.
Tommy: He said it under his breath, thinking we
couldn't hear him, ya know?
Mikey: I stop and say "What did you just say,
little man?" and the dumbass repeats it.
Tommy: Louder this time. Everyone going past us hears
it.
Mikey: So I back the guy into a corner and ask him if
he wanted to say it again.
Tommy: Can you believe it? The guy says it AGAIN!
Mikey: And that was about all I could take. I grab him
by the arm, and whip him into a table sitting on the side.
Tommy: Then I picked him up, and powerbombed him on
the concrete.
Johnny: Oh, no. Guys tell me you didn't.
Mikey: Thats not all of it though. I take him by the
neck and kind of throw him.
Johnny: Kind of throw him?
Tommy: Alright, he hurled the dude.
Mikey: And he hits a door, and falls into the room.
The guy is bleeding all over the floor.
Johnny: Well, now I can understand why you got this
letter.
Tommy: Thats not the worst part. The door we crashed
down was Mr. Kinsella's.
Mikey: And the guy gets blood on Kinsella's shoes.
Tommy: We took off, man. We didn't know what else to
do. We just came back here.
Johnny: Well, from this letter, it seems like he is
pissed. But it could be worse I guess.
Mikey: Yeah, we could be fired.
Johnny: No, you could be in jail for what you did to
that techie. You're lucky he didn't press charges.
Tommy: True.
Johnny: Well, anyway, you aren't fired, so that means
you don't just get to slack off for the time being. You can't just stop
training.
Mikey: Yeah, we know. We just got here. We were
waiting for you so we could show you the letter, and get your input.
Tommy: And as always, Johnny, you put us back on
track. What would we do without you?
Johnny: You'd probably be in the casino gambling away
all your dough....or drinking it away. But thats why we're here boys. We
are here to set an example.
Mikey: You're right, bro. Lets get to work.
Tommy: Hey, didn't you advance to thenext round of
Who's the Man?
Johnny: Yeah, I did. I beat The Man himself. Although,
there's something not quite right about him.
Tommy: Congrats, dude! Thats really awesome.
Mikey: No doubt, man. Now, who do you face this week?
Johnny: Thats the crazy thing. Mr. Sommers scheduled a
rematch for me against Brymstone. And now Brymstone wants a cage match.
Mikey: Dang, that oughtta be a long night, huh?
Johnny: You're not kidding. But I am still pissed at
what that giant did to me. He totally disrespected me and my home. I am
not done with him. Not by a long shot!
Tommy: You've really made an impact there in the PWA
man.
Johnny: I guess so. All I really know is that I need to
get down to business today. Brymstone is no joke.
Mikey: Lets get you ready for this week.
Johnny: Right on, bro. Lets keep this truck rollin.
Mikey: Exactly, we want to keep your momentum up
heading into Who's The Man.
Johnny: Right on, guys. I really do appreciate
everything you do for me every week. Without Knight Train, I wouldn't be
nearly as prepared for my matches as I am. I attribute all of my success
to you guys and Jorge.
Mikey: Hey, where is that old man today?
Johnny: You mean he wasn't here when you got here?
Tommy: No, we had to use our key.
Johnny: Thats really odd. For as long as I can
remember, Jorge is the first one here every day.
Mikey: Yeah, no kidding. I wasn't sure if our key was
going to work. We've never had to use it.
Johnny: You guys start setting up. I'm going to see if
he left a note somewhere.
*Knight Train begins to set up the weights, and get
everything ready for today's training. Johnny walks over to Jorge's office
and looks in through the window. All the lights are off. He tries the
door, and its unlocked. Weird, Johnny thinks. He goes in and turns on the
light. He takes a quick look around the office. Nothing seems out of
place, but then he notices the phone line is pulled out of the wall. He
walks over behind Jorge's desk. There are papers scattered all over the
floor. And Johnny sees something on them. It looks red, but he leans down
for a closer look. Johnny stands bolt upright.*
Johnny: Blood.
Mikey: What? What did you say?
Johnny: Blood.
Tommy: No way, where.
*Knight Train runs into the office and see Johnny
standing there, white as a ghost. Johnny pulls out his cell phone and
dials Jorge's house*
Johnny: Damn, no answer. Do either of you have his cell
number?
Tommy: Yeah, I do.
Johnny: Dial it.
Tommy: Voicemail, Johnny.
Johnny: OK, I'm gonna head over to his house and see if
he's there. I'm going to keep calling his house. You keep calling his
cell. If you get him, call me right away.
Tommy: You got it man.
Johnny: I'll call you when I get to his house.
*Johnny sprints out the door of the gym and jumps into
the Jeep. Cut to Johnny pulling into Jorge's driveway. He runs to the door
and knocks. The door slowly opens. Johnny walks in*
Johnny: Jorge?!? Are you here?
*Johnny walks around the house. He then sees a light on
in Jorge's bedroom and heads over there. As he opens the door, he peers
around to the other side.*
Johnny: Jorge!
*Camera pans to see Jorge laying on the floor of his
bedroom.*
Johnny: Oh my god!
*Just as Johnny whips out his phone to dial 911, he
notices something laying on the floor next to Jorge. He bends down to get
a closer look.*
Johnny: What the hell is this?
*Its a blank business card. At least it looks blank.
Johnny flips it over. On the card is a big red B. Johnny looks around the
room, seeing that he's the only one there*
Johnny: YOU BIG SON OF A BITCH!! YOU ARE A COWARD!! YOU
WON'T CONFRONT ME IN PERSON?? YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT OUT ON A POOR OLD MAN?
*Johnny crumples up the card and lights it on fire*
Johnny: Not only do I accept your cage match,
Brymstone, I'll do you one better! You like to beat up on old men? Well,
I'm gonna beat you like a red headed step child! Lets make this an Extreme
Rules match! Anything goes, load that ring up with weapons, whatever you
want. I don't care what you have, Brymstone. You have just messed with
Johnny Phoenix for the LAST time!
*Fade to Black*
Brymstone #2
The scene opens up on a very well appointed office. The desk is made of
a rich dark mahogany wood, there are books of all kinds lining the shelves
along the walls, paintings from various famous and obscure artists dot the
empty spaces, filling them.. and then there is the large chair. It looks
too big for most people to sit in and that's when it spins around
revealing none other than Brymstone, his lips curled slightly into a
knowing smirk. His hands are steepled in front of him and it is a moment
before he says anything..but when he does, the bass in his voice rumbles
out perfectly.
Johnny Phoenix, let me be the first to extend
some sort of condolances on what happened to your trainer. It is
decidedly...unfortunate that someone would break into an old man's house
and leave him bloodied upon the floor of his own bedroom. But know this, I
have better things to do than destroy old, tired, broken down men. As for
the card that you found there..to proove to you it was someone else..
Brymstone reaches inside his sportcoat and retrieves a card and
holds it up. The camera zooms in nice and close until the embossed
lettering is perfectly legible. The letters A S P are designed into a
snake..an asp if you will. Of course below the A S P there are directions
for contacting him..numbers, addresses the usual sort of things you'd find
on a buisness card.
Ashram Stone Productions if you were wondering
what the ASP stood for.. Wrong buisness card.. there's one hole in your
theory.. Now.. let's blow one more hole through it shall we? I've been
dealing with buisness of a personal nature since Rampage last week, so
there wasn't time enough to stomp your old trainer... And..as a side
note.. if he allowed himself to get beaten so badly...how good of a
trainer could he be? I certainly wouldn't want to learn from him.. You
dont get a tattoo from someone with shitty tattoos on their person..and
you don't learn to wrestle/defend yourself from someone who never could in
the first place.
Brymstone rises from his chair and steps from behind his desk,
approaching the camera, which zooms out to take in the full size of the
giant. He slowly folds his arms across his chest and leans back against
the mahogany desk. Whatever smirk he had across his features fades into a
deadly serious expression.
Now let us get back to the buisness at hand. Our
match at Rampage. I am quite surprised that you accepted my terms for the
cage match. Excellent. However, as to your wishes of Extreme Rules..with
all kinds of weapons and what have you, I am going to have to decline.
No.. before you even start, it is not because I am afraid of what would
happen to myself.. As I have stated before, I regret nothing, and I fear
less. No.. my reasons for declining the use of weapons are simply this: I
will not dishonor myself any longer by using them.. and.. you are going to
have enough to handle in that ring with just me in there.. You do not need
the added distraction of weapons..
Brymstone pauses a moment as if rethinking something and then
continues.
On second thought, so be it. If you wish to throw
your life away for one match..then I will not stop you. And in case people
have been telling you how deadly I was with weapons in the GWF and here in
the early days of my career the PWA.. I will not be bringing Tsyouoi to
the ring..
With the mention of that sword, the camera pans slowly over towards
a mantlepiece, revealing a katana in a simple unadorned black sheath. It
is understandably resting in a place of honor. The camera pans back to
Brymstone who has that same serious expression on his face
Which is the last favor I will do for you,
Phoenix. The clock is ticking down the seconds until you are locked with
me inside that steel cage...and I can hardly wait. I do hope you will be
mentally ready, because I do not want to hear one word of you complaining
that you were grieving over an old man, who could not defend himself and
should not have been involved in the first place..
With that the scene cuts to black only to reveal a brief commercial
for Brymsteaks...and then to static. |